Fog rises up,

Tuffs and tuffs of yellow smoke

Each containing a man's sorrow,

Drift to heaven to rest in the ear

Of Almighty God.

The Saxophone, gleaming like sea-glass

On a bright moon beach,

Doth breathe in the scents into their lungs,

And wails into the empty night.

On this moonless, starless night,

Where no light seems possible,

They shuffle in one by one,

Bricklayers, Masons,

Waitresses, and Steelworkers.

Some come in their work clothes,

Still drenched in sweat;

Others scraped themselves from the sewer

In order to feel better for awhile.

The Song begins, a sweet wail—

A siren leading them from the rocks

Where they've crashed

To Paradise, where men walk hand in hand.

The crowd gulps these notes,

Guzzling from the brass pitcher,

Beer that would never go stale,

Clutching a life preserver

In Jim Crow sea.